


Close Shave

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laid up with his arm in a sling, Hutch needs help with the simplest tasks and Starsky is there to oblige. Occurs just after Black and Blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine A Love Story 6

Close Shave  
By  
Dawnwind

Occurs shortly after Black and Blue.

The first time David Starsky shaved, he was fourteen, and it felt like a seminal moment in history. That he had only five hairs which needed trimming was trivial. This signified his manhood far more than his Bar Mitzvah ever had. And there was no Hebrew to memorize.

The second shave was just as exciting - even when he put a one inch gash along his jawbone and had to go to school wearing a Band-Aid.

The third and fourth times faded into insignificance when it really struck him that he was going to have to do this every day of his life - maybe even twice if he wanted to be smooth cheeked for a date. 

He tried not shaving, but that had its own pitfalls. The beard he grew in 'Nam was itchy and got lice. His attempt at a mustache was interesting, but he hated having to navigate neatly around it and finally lopped the thing off in one broad stroke.

Shaving was just a necessary chore.

The first time Starsky shaved Hutch was a revelation. Hutch's broad, flat cheeks were totally different from his own, and shaving another person was a fine art that he suddenly wanted to perfect. On one single person - his partner.

While convalescing with one arm in a sling, Hutch asked in such an offhand manner that, at first, Starsky wasn't sure what he meant. "Been four days since Mimi gave me that shave in the hospital," he said on his first day home. "I'm going to have let my sideburns grow until they become one with my mustache…" He raised his eyebrows into question marks.

Starsky was caught flat-footed. This was **not** the time for their usual instant communication to go on the blink. "You want me to give you a shave?" 

Hutch had a faint, downy layer of fuzz on his cheeks, quite like a newborn baby's hair - barely visible. Not as much scruff as Starsky had by five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Unless you have a better idea." Hutch touched the sling, affecting a sad little boy look that Starsky knew was patently fake. Anyone who could leap out of his sick bed to rescue his dolt-headed partner could probably shave himself one-handed.

Of course, he'd probably end up with his mustache crooked and sideburns uneven, not to mention little wads of toilet paper stuck to his cheeks to cover the nicks.

Far better if Starsky did it. Hell, he'd had a lot of practice on his own face. He sometimes shaved morning and night, which probably added up to twice as many times as Hutch ever had. Easy as falling off a log.

"All right." Starsky was immediately struck by the logistics. What was routine on his own face was going to be all the wrong angles on Hutch. He'd have to stand behind him and…? He squinted, awkwardly miming shaving someone else. "Sit in a chair at the kitchen table and I'll get the supplies."

"Shaving cream and a razor in the bathroom cabinet," Hutch said, settling into the ladder back chair.

"I know!" He'd been in Hutch's bathroom often enough. Starsky ferreted out the necessary items, plus a towel and a bowl of warm water, and brought them back to the kitchen table. He felt very professional - like a real barber. "You just sit back and relax, Hutch, this'll be terrific."

"Leave the 'stache, I need that," Hutch said with a smirk.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against Starsky's arm with complete trust. Touched, Starsky stared at that long bare neck with a fluttery panic. It had been nineteen years since he had given much thought to the art of using a sharp blade on vulnerable flesh. It suddenly seemed like such a barbaric practice - physically scraping the hair off. Yet, smooth, freshly shaved cheeks were so… sensual. 

Starsky flushed from forehead to groin with arousal. _He usually was able to keep his attraction to Hutch buried more deeply._

He took a slow, deep breath to clamp down on the desire and spread the creamy foam over Hutch's face. The spicy aroma of the cream overlaid on Hutch's natural scent was like a drug that Starsky craved. Holding the blade over Hutch's face, his hand trembled just once. In contrast, Hutch was relaxed and calm, looking straight up at him. Starsky banished the nerves and took a confident swipe along Hutch's cheekbone. Pleased with his initial success, he rinsed the razor and scraped along the edge of Hutch's sideburn.

Hutch's patrician nose had always fascinated him. Beautiful, long and straight - just like the man himself. Starsky carefully guided the razor blade around Hutch's nostril and away from the mustache with a gentle sweep, flicking off the shaving cream with the side of his finger. 

"How am I doing?" Starsky asked quietly, not yet ready to look in Hutch's eyes. It was almost a fight not to fall into that clear, fjord blue. 

"Almost as good as the nurse at the hospital." 

Hutch smiled, which jostled the razor just as Starsky was about to take another swipe. "Don't move your cheeks!" Starsky complained, removing the last of Hutch's pale whiskers. "I don't want to cut your throat." He looked into Hutch's eyes finally, and wanted to dive deep into those fathomless depths.

"Can't do any worse than I have, on occasion," Hutch said, softly stroking his clean-shaven face. "You did a nice job, feels smooth."

"Oh, hey." Starsky laughed, feeling shaky. He deliberately turned away to wash shaving foam off the razor and his hands. "I nearly slit my - whaddya call it?" He pressed a finger over the pulse in his throat and was surprised at how fast his heart was beating.

"Your carotid?" Hutch supplied. He stood gingerly, grimacing when the movement obviously hurt his healing shoulder wound. Cradling his left arm against his chest, Hutch looked fondly at Starsky.

"Second time I picked up a razor. Had to go to class with a big ol' Band-Aid on my face like some geek who couldn't shave."

"How old were you?" Hutch laughed.

He was far too close. Starsky couldn't take a step back without bumping into Hutch -which he didn’t want to do, and not just because Hutch had a sore shoulder. Starsky was very, very aware of the sudden tightness in his groin. _Damn!_ He hadn't expected this to happen so quickly. "Uh - fourteen."

"I didn't have to shave until I was fifteen." Hutch tossed a smile over his shoulder and walked into the bedroom to sit on the bed. "And even then, I could go for days without."

"Your hair is really fine, and almost colorless when it's that short." Starsky watched him, to make sure he didn't trip or get shot again - and felt a strange terror grip his already hammering heart. There was no place for what-ifs here. Hutch had had a rough day after the shooting, but he was fine now, nearly fully recovered. He'd be out of the sling very soon, and wouldn't need much help any longer. Not with shaving, not with—

"You want me to do anything else before I go?" Starsky asked, unsettled. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Did Hutch feel this… arousal, too? If so, he wasn't letting on. Luckily, Starsky's hard-on had receded enough for polite society.

"No, I'm good." Hutch settled back against the pillows at the headboard with a sigh. "I'm still surprised how tired I get when I haven't done very much."

"You're healing." Starsky nodded. If there was one thing he knew more about than Hutch, it was recovering from a bullet wound. "Stay away from little girls with little guns from now on."

"I plan to." Hutch kicked off his slippers, and looked ready to take a nap.

Pulling the covers up over Hutch's legs, Starsky shuddered when he closed his eyes. Starsky found it unsettling to see Hutch sleeping lately - it was too much of a reminder how close he came to dying. 

"I can come by… after work tomorrow, give you another shave," Starsky said, adjusting the crotch of his jeans to settle himself more comfortably. Hutch didn't seem to notice, his eyes were barely open. "And bring you something from that deli you like. Maybe some of their stuffed veal."

Blinking sleepily, Hutch grinned up at him. Starsky felt his heart trip and then speed up. All for one beatific smile from a guy he'd known for more than ten years. 

"Sounds great, but don't you have a date with that pretty lady, Meredith?" Hutch adjusted the sling on the back of his neck. "I thought you were taking her to that new movie _Death on the Nile."_

Meredith! Creamy café-au-lait skin and legs that went on for miles, Joan Meredith. Starsky tried to concentrate on her and kept getting sidetracked by summer blue eyes and hair the color of sun bleached wheat. He swallowed awkwardly and plastered a smile on his face. "You got me, pal, but I don't want to desert my buddy in his hour of need."

"Starsky, go have fun. I don't need to shave every day," Hutch said. "I'll be back at work by next week. You won't have to partner with Meredith very long - unless..."

"No," Starsky said quickly to stop any more talk like that. "Doesn't seem natural not having you sitting right beside me." He grabbed Hutch's good hand and squeezed tightly. "You're my partner for as long as you'll have me."

Hutch searched his face for a long moment as if looking for answers to a question neither of them had asked. "Forever, babe."

"Don't get shot ever again, Hutch." Starsky opened his mouth to say something else, anything, and then Hutch gave a funny little shake of his head, those blue eyes sliding sideways and away from Starsky's face.

"Once was enough for me. Wish you could say the same." There was something tight and unhappy in Hutch's voice.

"Hey, I heal fast and got the scars to prove it," Starsky boasted, brushing a hand across Hutch's smooth cheek and the fine bristle of his mustache, the moment past and gone. Did he have the balls to say what was in his heart? 

Starsky had to turn away from Hutch when he closed his eyes, lock away the thoughts that kept derailing him. Someday, there would be a right time for confessions. When Hutch had both hands free, and Starsky could place his heart into those big palms.

"Say hi to your lady," Hutch called out, yawning.

"G'night, Hutch," he said, looking back. 

The rays of the setting sun slanted through the window, highlighting Hutch's hair like a halo. He was alive and whole. Another disaster averted by the narrowest of margins. How many more would they have?

Starsky shook off the morbid thoughts, grateful for six inches and the chance to have a future - any future - with this man. "See you tomorrow afternoon. I'll bring some shaving cream that smells better'n your skunk stuff, and an old fashioned straight razor - closest shave you'll ever have, just like a guillotine."

"Starsky!"

He beat a hasty retreat when Hutch reared up and tossed a pillow at him. 

Fin


End file.
